Mine
by bkgrl
Summary: Later in the series, Arya goes to the Wall. After meeting Val, Arya's motivated to finally start speaking again.


**It is pure smut with a little, aw moment, at the end. **

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"_Mine." Her voice called to him in a thousand directions. _

"_Mine. Mine. Mine. You've always been mine."_

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When she found him at the Wall it was clear that she had changed. The loud, little girl that followed him throughout the yards of Winterfell, crawled into his bed at night, and clung to him before he left to join The Watch, was now gone. In her place is a solemn woman. Always watching, always aware, Arya tracked his movements around camp, like a wolf stalking its kill.

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"Where have you been?" He asked, one night across the fire. Desperate for answers as to why she hadn't found him sooner, why she's changed, he can't help but question.

Arya gave her customary response: no response.

At night when Jon sleeps, he dreams of the little girl that he remembered and loved from so long ago. But sleep comes to him in a restless fit, for with those dreams come other, strange ones, of this new woman. Dreams of her silent mouth pressed against his. Her small hands, searching through the layers of his cloak, as Arya speaks the only word he wants to hear from her mouth: Jon.

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She's his sister. He avoids her days after these heavy mixed dreams; weigh laid with feelings of guilt.

When Val comes into camp, with a small band of Wildlings, carrying news from beyond the Wall, Arya says her first word: No.

"This is your sister?" Smiling, the blond, motioned to Arya: demeaning her in judgment. Dirty in her tunic and britches, with a heavily soiled cloak, clumps of hair cling to Arya's face.

"No." She answers, before Jon can reply. Standing too close, smiling a little often, his behavior causes a stir in Arya. Feelings that she's repressed for years, ideas that she hasn't considered since entering the House of Black and White, come flooding back. Who is this woman who looks at Jon as if she knew him? Who is she to approach so possessively, to question who Arya was?

The mysterious woman ignores her answer and turned her attention back to Jon. "I was hoping that I could seek your counsel alone."

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When weight sinks down on his chest, his eyes snap open in surprise.

"Arya! What are you doing?"

He's hasn't seen her dark hair down since they were children. Flowing over her shoulders, it covers the skin exposed by her ill fitting shift.

"Shh…" Shifting her hips down further, she rocks against him as her mouth touches his.

Precise, warm, and eager, her tongue slips through his bewildered lips and flicks against his own. Pressing her shoulders back, he can feel her teeth, still against his, as he answers, "No. We can't."

"Shh…" she responds again. She grabs his wrists, forcing his hands to run over her bare thighs. Beyond his control, Jon can feel his cock harden, as the pads of each digit curve over her bare bottom and trace over her ribs.

Discarding the shift, he looks now at this naked woman that was once his sister. For the sin he knows he is committing against the Old Gods, Ned and the House Stark, he tries to force himself to look away. But he can't.

"Here," cupping his hand to her breast, she pushes her taut nipple against his palm. Under the flicking light from the hearth, he can make out small silver scars, painted over her body. Where had she been? What had happened to her, to keep her silent for so long?

With his free hand, he traces the serrated skin on her ribs.

"No." Removing his hand, she placed it against the firm inside of her thigh.

The moisture in Jon's mouth and throat goes bone dry. Even if he wanted to speak, he couldn't. All coherent thoughts have left his mind- the energy expended southward.

Leaning in, again, she takes his bottom lip between her teeth. Her hips roll against the thin layer of his small clothes, the moisture seeping through.

"Arya…" he half murmurs, half growls- but mostly prays.

Reaching between their bodies, she tugs his small clothes down his hips. Taking his cock in hand, she runs her fingers across the moist slit.

"Fuc…" A series of indiscernible curses filter out of his mouth as she continues pumping her hand over the length of him.

He knows he should stop this. He should be thinking of Ned or Robb. What would they say? He should be considering his oath. He should be considering the fact that what he was doing was a sin before the Old Gods and New. But he couldn't keep a full thought. Jon hasn't felt this good -ever. Even with Ygritte, although enjoyable, it never felt like this.

When she dipped her hand between her own legs and touched herself. Arya's back arched momentarily. Spreading her slick heat over the head of his cock, she replaced her hand with his, between her thighs.

Wet, warm and soft, the feel of her was intoxicating. Her rocking quickly brings him over the edge, like a green boy. Spilling his seed into her hands, Jon almost started to apologize when Arya leaned forward, taking his mouth again.

"Mine." She whispered against his lips.

Pushing her head upwards, he latched on to her breast like a child to mother- in complete worship.

"Mine." She repeated, as her hand worked behind her, stroking him again.

Her wetness spread over his lower abdomen as she continued grinding. Licking his ear lobe, she teased, "Fuck me, Jon."

"No." He answered in haste. He couldn't take her. Arya was his sister. It should be wrong….

Snapping her hips against him, in rhythm with her stroking, she'd brought his cock back to full attention.

"Do it." She ordered this time. And without waiting for his reply, she rose up and sunk down onto him.

"Hells!" Jon shouted out, as she clamped around him like a collar on a dog. Lost to right or wrong, he answered her request with full force. His fingers kneed into her hips, eliciting a yelp as he guided her movements.

Catching his eyes, she called to him, "Mine. You are mine."

Reaching out, she ran her fingers through his shaggy, dark hair. "Say it, Jon. Tell me."

This was the moment he should correct her. A different Jon: the Jon that was Ned Stark's son, Robb Stark's brother and a man of the Watch, would say no. But Jon's never felt as connected to that man, as he does to this one.

Stilling her hips, he pulled himself up, so that they were face to face. Gasping for breath, both sets of grey eyes search the other. His words are hot and sincere against her lips, as his arms wrapped around her, "I missed you."

Neither moved as they searched the other's face, finding what's been missing for too long. This time her lips are less hasty, but just as needy, when they brush against his. When her tongue touches his, its not commanding, it's inviting.

"I missed you." She replies back, as he guided her hips against his, once again.

Moving slower this time, their touches are surer, more affection. Clinging to one another, he can feel her clenching around him again. Bringing his hand between their bodies, he thumbed the nub at the apex of her thighs, sending her to a wet, violent end.

Lips pressed against her temple, he spilled himself inside her, answering, "Yours. "

Hands knotted in hair, limbs tangled, still joined, they cradled one another, for minutes.

"Only yours," he concluded, burying his face into the crook of her neck.

"I know."

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**I had to do it. I ship these two so hard that it is ridiculous. Thanks for reading. Please review!**


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